


In Spite of Fate

by GloriousBlackout



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, Ant-Man (2015) Post-Credits Scene spoilers, Declarations Of Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 08:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4428986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriousBlackout/pseuds/GloriousBlackout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Steve almost told Bucky he loved him, and the one time he finally did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Spite of Fate

**One**

Waking up on sweat-soaked sheets was never pleasant, but Steve felt a familiar jolt of relief that he was waking up at all.

This winter had been especially harsh, bringing with it illness after illness that made him burn with fever and think of oxygen as something precious. His mother had taken up extra shifts at her work purely to pay for medicine and he cringed with guilt every time he saw how exhausted she was becoming. She always assured him that it was alright, all she cared about was that he got better, but he was sick of being a constant burden to those he loved.

It seemed to be evening, as the dim light streaming from the window was not enough to make the throbbing in his head worse. Steve was grateful for that; he did not need that added pain on top of the dryness in his throat and the aching in his bones. He used the little strength he had to sit up on the bed, and only then did he notice that he had a visitor.

Bucky was sound asleep and curled up on an armchair by his bed; his hair sticking up in all directions and dark circles lining his eyes. Surrounding him was a pile of empty plates and mugs that suggested he'd practically lived in that spot for a while. Steve felt a flush of shame. Bucky was whole and healthy – he should be out enjoying the school holidays and playing with his sisters, not cooped up here watching him wheeze and groan through a chest infection.

Steve reached out a small hand and lightly shook Bucky's shoulder. It said a lot about his friend's state of exhaustion that he woke with none of his usual energy, instead looking around the room with bleary eyes before his tired gaze landed on Steve. He looked quizzical for a brief moment before realisation set in, and a wide grin spread across his face.

"I knew you'd be up soon," he said excitedly, leaning forward in his seat and looking like he'd happily hug Steve and never let go, but it was likely he'd received several lectures from Sarah as to why he shouldn't do that. Steve was still a fragile thing after all, who needed to be hidden away from the world before it caused him to break. That was what everyone seemed to see in him anyway.

Bucky settled for a firm grip on Steve's shoulder instead. "Your mother kept saying I should go home, but I had to make sure you were better."

Warmth pooled in Steve's chest and he smiled despite the lingering pain. Bucky quickly reached for a glass of water by his feet and handed it over silently, before leaping from the chair and wandering over to a nearby table. Steve sipped it gratefully, the dryness in his throat being soothed by the cool water, and watched as Bucky dug through the drawers in search of something. When he seemed to have found it he rushed back over to the bed and handed Steve a crumpled sheet of paper.

"I didn't have much to do when you were sleeping, so I thought..." he scratched the back of his head, suddenly bashful. "I mean, it's not as good as you would have done it."

It could have been mere scribbles and Steve would still have been struck speechless. The paper bore a sketch of two recognisable boys lazing on the grass while looking up at the sun. Steve could see the slight imperfections Bucky was worried about – some areas had clearly been rubbed out and redone and some of the shading wasn't quite right – but he didn't care. Bucky may as well have handed him a chest of gold for all the gratitude he felt swelling in his chest.

The words he wanted to say stuck in his throat. He couldn't explain why he was so reluctant; telling a friend he loved him could hardly be so strange. And yet, it felt like too much of a risk and Steve had no desire to lose the best friend he could ever wish to have.

Instead he simply choked out a 'Thank you,' and ignored his many aches and pains in favour of pulling Bucky into the strongest hug he could manage.

* * *

**Two**

The science fair was lively and colourful and filled with the chatter of all its visitors, but Steve could appreciate none of it. He hardly blamed his 'date' for her lack of interest, for he knew he must not appear particularly enthusiastic, but it was hard to feign excitement over flying cars when an unpleasant fact remained at the forefront of his mind.

Bucky was leaving.

Steve should have known this was coming. He'd already grown accustomed to his friend's absence, as he went away for weeks at a time to complete his training, but at least he'd always known that Bucky would return on those occasions. This was different; Bucky was going away to war where he could be killed in a heartbeat, and all of Steve's efforts to sign up and join him had ended in failure. Steve could lose everything that mattered to him and he would be helpless to do anything about it.

It was with that thought that he let himself be drawn away from the crowd towards the recruiting station. He almost felt guilty for leaving Bucky on his last night of freedom, but his friend had two pretty girls by his side. He should be allowed to enjoy his night and not be burdened with a friend that was too caught up in his own thoughts to even pretend to be having fun himself.

Bucky didn't seem to see it that way. It was almost predictable how he managed to catch up with Steve despite not having seen him leave, but Steve couldn't humour him by listening to the argument he'd heard countless times before. He knew war was dangerous and that he was probably too weak to fight it. That didn't matter when men were being sent off to fight and die for their country while he was expected to sit around and hope that some of them made it back. He only wished that Bucky could see that too; this could be their last conversation on this earth and it was being wasted on an argument that Steve refused to back down from.

Bucky seemed to sense that he had lost – the girls had become a distraction again – and Steve was struck by the finality of everything. Before he could stop him, his best friend was backing away and leaving him with a warning he must have known Steve would ignore. "Don't do anything stupid until I get back."

"How can I?" Steve replied, knowing the only way to get even a second longer with Bucky would be to antagonise him, however playfully. "You're taking all the stupid with you."

It worked. Bucky replied with a smirk and a familiar 'You're a punk' before approaching for a hug, as if they were children again and not grown men facing a war. The rebuttal of 'jerk' came from Steve unbidden, but there was something more he needed to say. It may be his last chance after all, and he knew it would haunt him forever if he let those three words go unsaid.

The moment was gone, however. Bucky had backed away again to make the most of what time he had left, and Steve resigned himself to making what he suspected would be yet another fruitless application.

* * *

**Three**

The corridors were long and dark, and alarms blared in the distance as escaped prisoners made their bid for freedom, but Steve could hear nothing but his frantic breaths as he cast quick glances into every room he passed. Those damning words he'd been given ( _'nobody ever comes back'_ _)_ seemed to pound in his ears but he ignored them. The prospect of Bucky being dead had refused to sink in ever since he'd learned of the 107th's fate and he refused to accept them as reality now. He'd come too far for that.

It hadn't even properly sunk in that he was in the midst of his first proper fight. The chase following the serum's transformation had barely counted; he'd been all flailing limbs and blinding rage then. Here, he had a goal and he'd fought men on his path to achieving it and won. All there was left to do was save his friend.

He ended up on what seemed to be an empty corridor, until he turned to find a weedy man grasping at papers as if his life depended on it. The two shared a look for a moment before the man fled, but any prospect of pursuing him vanished when Steve heard quiet mutterings coming from the room he'd emerged from. Carefully, Steve walked in as if expecting something to lunge at him from the shadows, but nothing came forth. The only thing to disturb the air was a monotonous, yet familiar, voice.

"32557..."

Steve followed the voice to find the man he'd feared dead lying motionless, tightly strapped to a table and showing no signs of life besides the endless mutterings. It was unclear whether Bucky was even aware of what he was saying, but that hardly mattered. Steve had to get them both out of here; he could deal with any uneasy consequences later.

He rushed over to the table without a second thought, fumbling with the straps for a moment until his hands stopped shaking and he could properly release Bucky. His friend's eyes had slipped open at Steve's frantic mention of his name, but they were clouded by pain and confusion, and it was only when the straps were loose that he seemed to notice Steve was even there.

"Steve?" His voice was weak but Steve knew in that moment that he could listen to it for hours if it meant they were both safe. A disbelieving smile spread across Bucky's face but Steve couldn't dwell on that, or the fact that his heart finally felt whole again after so many months.

There was so much he found he wanted to say. Things that had haunted him these past twenty-hours, when the prospect of losing Bucky had been a very real possibility whether he admitted it or not. Things like ' _I was scared I'd lost you_ _'_ and ' _Never do that to me again_ _'_ and ' _I can't believe you're here_ _'_ and ' _I love you_ _'_ _._

"I thought you were dead," was all he managed to say.

His chance to say anything more was broken when Bucky was finally able to stand and notice the major change that had occurred in the last few months. "I thought you were smaller."

Steve smiled in spite of the situation, and cast aside any thoughts of what he wanted to say in favour of getting them both out of this hell-hole safely. There would be always be time later on.

* * *

**Four**

Steve should never have let Bucky come on this mission.

It was that fact - more so than the Hydra agent firing at him with that devastating blue energy he barely understood - that took priority in his mind as he fought in a moving train. The fact that he'd been separated from Bucky unnerved him greatly; the fact that he could no longer tell whether the other man was even still alive more so. The sounds of the Hydra weapon gearing up blocked out any sound from the adjacent compartment and Steve knew he would have to end this quickly if he wanted any chance of rejoining Bucky.

Without a second thought, he lunged towards his enemy - using the shield to block any attacks - and knocked him to his feet before slamming his shield down upon the man's head. Whether he'd left him unconscious or dead, he couldn't bring himself to care. The silence in his own compartment made the sounds of nearby gunfire all the more prominent, and Steve felt a surge of panic as those sounds started to quieten. He ran towards the door as quickly as he could and, resisting the urge to simply barge in, he looked through the window to see Bucky still alive, crouched behind stacks of Hydra weapons, but seemingly out of ammunition.

Steve dug out his own gun and opened the door. The whir drew Bucky's attention and he caught the gun as it was thrown to him, communicating with a silent nod before Steve threw himself towards the stacks in front of him and shook Bucky's opponent from his hiding place. The moment he was exposed, Bucky took the opportunity to fire and the man went down with a damning thud.

For a single second Steve could hear nothing but their forced breathing, serving as glorious proof that they'd both survived the ambush unscathed. His own words from what seemed to be another lifetime broke the silence, but it was Bucky who spoke. "I had him on the ropes."

"I know you did," Steve replied, almost giddy at the thought that their roles had truly reversed over time. It would be something they could laugh about later as they drowned yet another near-death-experience with whiskey, but for now they had to find Zola. He felt a stab of regret at having to return to their mission, however. He was too relieved that Bucky was alive and all he really wanted to do in the moment was tell him ' _I love you,_ _jerk.'_

But the moment was broken for him; his blow had not killed his own opponent it seemed, and he barely felt himself be pushed away before blue light filled his vision and the worst moments of his life passed him by in what seemed to be a heartbeat.

* * *

**Five**

Steve knew he was dying. He must be; it was the only way to explain the agony in his gut and the fact that the world seemed to be falling apart around him in a sea of fire and metal. The helicarriers were screeching as each blow hit and instinct told him to get as far away as possible, but all he wanted to do in that moment was close his eyes and end it.

A pained scream broke that wish and Steve froze as his mind transported him back to a moving train and the sight of Bucky falling into a ravine, as his own hand stretched out uselessly to save him. He knew now that he should have done more; he should have insisted on a search party or thrown himself from the train as well or reached just a little further to grab Bucky's hand and never let go. But the time to do all of those things was gone and seventy long years had passed, leaving both men changed beyond repair and yet somehow still young.

Steve didn't know if he could even face Bucky any more. Those empty blue eyes were both hauntingly reminiscent of the man he'd once been and yet alien at the same time. Hydra had turned his friend – the one person besides Peggy he'd truly loved – into a killing machine to use and manipulate, and Steve had failed him too many times before. He couldn't bring himself to see that failure again.

However, as he pulled himself onto a rail and saw the ghost of his friend struggling with the beam across his chest, that old protective instinct kicked in. What had happened to Bucky was not his fault, and he certainly didn't deserve to suffer further. Steve had failed in the act of saving him before, but there was nothing to stop him from trying now.

He climbed down as carefully as he could; a difficult feat when the wound in his stomach was screaming and the very surface he walked on threatened to fall away from underneath him. He thought he saw Bucky cringe away out of the corner of his eyes, but it made no matter. All that mattered was that his friend was trapped and he needed to help.

Steve finally collapsed beside the beam and got as strong a grip on it as he could manage before using what remained of his energy to lift it. The structure was so heavy that his effort barely made a difference, but Bucky seemed to use the opportunity to pull himself away while he had the chance, and when Steve was certain he was completely free, he let go and gathered his breath while his muscles ached with exertion. The urge to sleep was returning, but it was neither the time nor the place, and he wasn't finished yet.

He shakily got to his feet and faced his old friend, who seemed frozen by his own confusion. Steve couldn't tell if that was a good thing or not. Despite the fact that any previous attempts to reach out to him had failed (' _Who the hell is Bucky?'_ still plagued him every time he remembered the mask falling off), Steve knew he had no choice but to try again.

"You know me."

The words only seemed to aggravate the Winter Soldier further, and Steve barely heard the rebuttal of 'No I don't!' before a flash of pain blossomed from where the metal arm had struck him. It didn't matter. Steve was used to pain; he'd had more than his fair share of it over the years.

"Bucky, you've known me your entire life."

Would those words even mean anything to the Winter Soldier? Was he aware that his existence had had a childhood, that he'd ever been a person rather than a weapon? Or had Hydra taken all of that away from him and reduced his experiences to an endless cycle of killing? Steve didn't know. He knew the answer would likely hurt him more than any blow ever could. "Your name is James Buchanan Barnes..."

Steve received another blow, but he'd braced himself this time, taking the pain with gritted teeth and a sense of duty he knew would likely kill him. He found that that prospect didn't affect him nearly as much as it should have done. He was too tired to care.

"I'm not gonna fight you." Steve felt his grip on the shield loosen and it fell between shattered panes of glass to the waters below. _Let it stay buried,_ he thought, watching as Bucky's gaze followed it down to the river. _Let the water take us both._ "You're my friend." _I loved you. I still do._

The Bucky he'd wanted to say those words to was not here to appreciate them, so they remained unsaid. Instead Steve stood defenceless as the Winter Soldier used this opportunity to lunge forward and tackle him to the floor, and Steve could do nothing as blows rained down on his face and frantic shouts of 'You're my mission!' broke through the sounds of destruction. A part of him thought that this should hurt, but he simply felt cold. He could see the glint of metal poised above him, preparing for a final strike, but instead of feeling apprehensive Steve simply felt acceptance.

"Then finish it," he barely managed to get the words out, but he knew they needed saying. "'Cause I'm with you til' the end of the line."

The final death blow never came. Bucky seemed to freeze above him and something changed in his expression, but Steve had no time to appreciate it. The glass beneath him fell away and he felt the brief rush of falling before the water swallowed him, taking him just like he'd asked it to.

* * *

**\+ One**

The quiet seemed alien to Steve after the panic of the last few hours, but at that moment he could think of no sweeter sound than the rhythmic beeping of the machines monitoring Bucky's heart, and the soft breaths that no longer hitched in his friend's chest. Bucky was asleep, looking almost peaceful for the first time Steve could remember since before the war, and Steve was so tired he was tempted to do the same. He took another gulp of the lukewarm coffee Sam had made, before he too had collapsed on a nearby couch to sleep, and hoped it'd be enough to keep him awake until he was sure that Bucky was completely fine.

It was strange. Steve had never been hopeful enough to imagine their reunion would be filled with tearful hugs and lightness, but nothing had prepared him for the dread of finding Bucky barely conscious, his arm trapped in a vice he himself had placed it in. The full gravity of the situation hadn't fully sank in until he'd realised that Bucky was burning with fever and pleading for help, and that the metal arm designed to make him stronger was now slowly poisoning him. He wouldn't have been surprised to lose Bucky then and there. Fate had never failed to be cruel to him when it came to his best friend; why should it ease up on them now?

However, Sam had taken control and called for help while Steve set about freeing Bucky and taking him back to their safehouse, feeling his heart stutter in his chest every time the other man drifted into unconsciousness and likely driving Sam mad with his panic.

None of that mattered any more. Sam had called in Scott Lang, and because circumstance demanded it, Steve had meekly accepted that _of course_ this man could shrink to the size of an ant, because that meant he could disable the mechanics of Bucky's arm and turn off the kill-switch that was slowly leaking poison into his veins. It was unclear whether that solution was permanent as of yet – Steve would have preferred the arm to be removed completely but he could not call Stark for help on that front – but things at least looked hopeful. Bucky's fever had finally broken and he'd stopped writhing in pain three hours ago. His vitals were slowly approaching normal and he'd finally managed to give into exhaustion and sleep somewhat peacefully. That was all Steve could ask for at the moment.

Purely looking for something to do, Steve lightly brushed the hair away from Bucky's face, but stilled as the man's eyelids flickered. Part of him wanted Bucky to simply slip back into sleep and rest, but he could feel no disappointment at the sight of blue eyes landing on him; still tired after all he'd been through but brighter from the lack of illness. Steve gave Bucky a small smile, still cautious in the knowledge that it had been two years since they'd last met, but his old friend didn't seem to mind his presence. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore," Bucky replied, his voice barely a whisper. Steve reached over to the bedside table and brought a glass of water to Bucky's lips. The other man didn't seem to protest at needing help, instead he simply took small sips gratefully. "Feels like a truck fell on me."

Steve could sympathise; he remembered feeling much the same every time he recovered from the flu or a dreaded infection. Bucky's attention turned away from him to scan the room, which resembled a rather large lounge with a built-in kitchen in one corner and a couch and several bunk-beds in another. The hospital bed and machines had already been set up when they arrived and the kitchen was fully stocked with food.

The place was one of Nick Fury's old haunts, entrusted to them shortly before the man had disappeared in the frenzy of the Superhuman Registration Act's formation. It seemed that even though he supported Steve's plight in what people were already calling the 'civil war', he could not express as much publicly or he'd face the same punishment as everyone else.

It was unlikely that Bucky knew any of that though, and he turned back to Steve looking almost lost. "Where are we?"

"A safehouse." Bucky seemed to relax at that; all tension left him and he leaned back on the pillows. "We'll be safe here. I won't let anyone find you."

Bucky nodded and Steve felt a swell of warmth at the fact that he seemed to trust him. He doubted that the Winter Soldier was fully gone – it was likely that Bucky would bear the scars of that life for a long time yet – but the man he'd known was finally coming back to him. Steve knew that for as long as he drew breath he would do everything in his power to ensure that nobody dared hurt Bucky again.

"I love you." The usual apprehension that came every time he thought of those words was gone. He'd almost lost Bucky too many times for it to be left unsaid, and he'd let the truth lie stagnant for over seventy years. It was time.

Bucky said nothing in response, but a small smile appeared on his face, and when Steve placed his hand in Bucky's he felt the other man give it a light squeeze.

A few quiet moments passed before Bucky slipped back into sleep, and Steve let him rest as he lightly stroked his hand. There would be problems to sort out in the morning, he knew. Outside a Civil War was raging and remnants of Hydra were still at large and it was unclear just how much Bucky remembered.

That could all wait. Steve had the man he loved back and, in that moment, nothing else could possibly matter.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this. This is my first attempt at a fic in this style and I'm not entirely sure if it was successful, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway :) Any feedback is appreciated.


End file.
